Hollowed Affliction
by Aaer
Summary: Favors and a misunderstanding lead Harry into a world he wished he had never been lured into in the first place - but it just might be growing on him. AU, Dimensional travel
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Rating: T

Summary: Favors and a misunderstanding lead Harry into a world he wished he had never been lured into in the first place - but it just might be growing on him. AU, Dimension travel/Time travel, pairings undecided

AN: I don't know where this is going yet. I might update it once a month, it might be twice in a week. I'll try to get everything else updated regularly again, but I don't know if I'll be able to. My health really isn't all that great yet, however, I will try.

This fic could go in a lot of different directions, so if you have a preference or an idea, let me know!

* * *

When he finally met the man trapped in his own cage, Harry laughed.

Even now he still couldn't understand why Voldemort hadn't killed him; Grindelwald had chosen to protect the man who had been both their enemies. Was it because he had been a dark lord too, or was it because he found him so helpless that it would be demeaning? But if that was case, Harry hadn't known the monster nearly as well as he thought.

Voldemort had killed many just on personal insult, boredom, and fear of what their power could turn into. He would not pass up the chance to kill the dark lord who had come before him.

So why hadn't he?

Ron and Hermione didn't understand his increasing obsession, reducing it to what he had with Malfoy all their sixth year. And it was a lot like he had had then, except this just kept burning the front of his mind, no matter what he did.

So now he needed the truth.

It took a few favors, but he was the Boy-Who-Lived. The boy who destroyed Voldemort twice and the last time permanently. It took some time, but in the scheme of things, it had been rather easy to get.

Nurmengard was the coldest place Harry had ever ventured too. It was covered in snow and ice with another couple of layers for good measure. Even after sixteen years of being in the Wizarding World, he still forgot he had magic. It took him several minutes to remember to cast a heating charm, and alone in the chills, he flushed. It was one of many things he still forgot about, now and again, something nearly every Pureblood he worked around sneered at. It was just one of many reasons he had finally given up on becoming an auror. One day they all expected him to become head of the department, and Harry had absolutely no interest in that. He would be have to be the perfect Pureblood for it to work, and that wasn't _ever_ going to happen.

If that was the case, he would have accepted one of the many marriage proposals that flooded through Gringotts. The goblins may still hold quite the grudge for what he had done with the dragon, not counting the fact that he stole from them and was successful, but Harry had the money, and they were _very_ greedy. It all had worked out somehow.

He was pulled from his thoughts by low toned voice, heavy and dark, and maybe a bit angry.

"I know who you are," the old man said from inside his cell, eyes half shut, his mouth turned into a lifeless snarl.

Harry stopped laughing then, "Oh and how would you know that? You've been stuck in here since before I was born. " He gestured to the cramped looking cell, and was suddenly struck by how different it looked than how the one in Voldemort's head had been. This was leaky and cold. A small cot in the corner, and tiny, barred window over it. The one from before had been very large and warm, a nice bed and huge, polished bookcases lining the walls.

"It's an illusion," Harry breathed, and the old dark lord suddenly stood, eyes widened, mouth sharp.

"You can see through it?" He demanded, blue eyes searching his.

Harry shrugged, "No, all I see is a tiny cot and a dripping sink." He laughed. "It looks disgusting from out here."

Grindelwald scoffed, turning away. "I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up, you are _Dumbledore's_ prodigy after all."

Harry's hands clenched, grief and then anger rolled over him in waves. He needed to talk about something else.

"I came here to ask you something," He said, breathing slowing. "It's about that night Voldemort came to see you. I want to know why he didn't kill you."

The old man watched him for a moment, before tilting his head and laughed. "You want to know why he didn't kill me, boy? Well I suppose I can tell you that. Now like it matters anymore anyways."

"Don't call me that," Harry snapped, and then pulled on his scarf. Grindelwald looked over him, amusement clear in his eyes.

"He let me go because he found it amusing, my predicament."

"You mean the illusion?" Harry said, and the other nodded.

"Oh yes, I'm sure you figured it out by now, but if I wanted to, I could have left this place years ago."

Harry moved closer to the bars, struck by the sarcastic tone in the other man's voice.

"Then why haven't you?"

Grindelwald laughed roughly. "I'll tell you what I told _him_; I could have left decades ago, but what would be the point? Everyone I've ever known is dead, and who cares about some foolish muggles. I've kept up with the news, and the Wizarding World has grown rather pathetic as of late. No use saving them either."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "That's it? He let you go because you decided never to venture from this cell ever?"

"Does the Boy-Who-Lived wish me to leave this place and create some chaos before I die?" The other man said, sneering, and Harry laughed, although it was rather bitter.

"Do I?" He asked, "Maybe. Mostly I just wanted some answers. Do you know anything about horcruxes?"

Grindelwald looked startled for a moment, before laughing and laughing and laughing. When he slowed, he looked half crazed.

"Oh," he said mid-laugh, "Not you too, _Potter. _Another boy asked me that a long time ago, would you like to guess who?"

"I thought Voldemort asked Slughorn?" Harry murmured, but Grindelwald only grinned this time, and apprehension spread over him.

"Voldemort didn't need me for _that_," He said, "No, it was a different boy, when I was very young. I had just come back from Durmstrang, you know. It was my aunt who I stayed with that summer, as no one else wanted me. And there, well, I met another boy the same age as me. Rather brilliant too."

Something heavy stuck in Harry's throat, and he instinctively stepped back.

"You can't mean-" Harry said, his voice almost pleading. Not another reason to hate the man for what he had done.

"Oh yes," Grindelwald said with great relish, as if saying this would bring him great pleasure, "His name was Albus. _Albus Dumbledore_."

It felt as though a great breath had been knocked out of him, and Harry laid back against a wall, killing cursed eyes widened.

"No," Harry said finally. "I don't want to believe that."

But how else could Dumbledore recognize a horcrux so easily?

"So you're going to cover your ears and ignore the truth? I thought better of you," He sneered.

"Why though? Why would he ask you that? All the time I've known him, he always had always been accepting of death, why-"

"I suppose it was because of me. I told him of course, when he asked. But after all those years, when he was supposed to kill me, he couldn't. Why do you think I'm _stuck_ in here? He couldn't kill me, he was _weak_," the old man hissed, and started to pace.

Obviously, Harry wasn't the only one reliving old memories.

"Weak is not what I think when I look back on what he's done," Harry said.

Grindelwald stopped. "He still loved me I suppose. Love is not always a weakness, but it was that day. For both of us."

Harry raised his head. "You had the Elder Wand, I had forgotten. You couldn't kill him either. Did you still love him?" Harry breathed out.

"I hated him," Grindelwald snarled, but then spoke quieter. "But love and hate can be rather similar, don't you think?"

"I sure didn't love Voldemort," Harry said, and the other man laughed. "Of course not, I doubt anyone could. You should have seen the state of his mind when he visited me. Only the smallest hint of sanity left. Any less and he _would_ have killed me. That's what happens when you play with soul magic though."

"Have you ever heard about using live beings for the anchor? He had two of them, you know," Harry said, suddenly feeling very sleepy, and not very bothered by it.

"Ahh the snake? I wouldn't know the other though," Grindelwald said, thoughtfully.

Harry laughed. "The other was me, the seventh horcrux. I had to die you know, met Dumbledore in a train station and everything."

It occurred to him that he was saying too much, but it was as though it didn't matter. It was such a strange feeling, Harry had never felt it before.

"What?" The other man whispered suddenly, staring at Harry as though he had sprouted another head. The thought made him break into hysterics.

"Yeah, and because it had been with me since I was very young, it had merged with my soul, so when I killed it, it pulled out a bit of my soul too. Not a lot, but it still _hurts_."

"Fascinating," He murmured.

Harry blinked, "Why am I telling you all this?"

Grindelwald chucked. "It's a spell, although the side effects of casting it makes me more honest as well. It's a shame really, but it does have it's uses."

"You don't have a wand though," Harry slurred, the world around him shifting.

"Don't I?" The other man spun something in his palm. "I suddenly had this idea, Harry Potter. I've been waiting for a chance, and had all but given up. It's a spell, but it requires an enormous amount of power from both a dark wizard and a light wizard. No one has ever visited this place who was powerful enough to do it. And I really haven't cared for leaving. But now you're here."

Harry groaned, his head feeling as though it were about to split. It was close to what his scar had felt years ago, and he suddenly felt absolutely terrified.

"I want to fix something, from a long time ago. You probably understand that, although your reasons are probably much more honorable. Saving people and what you heroes do. I just want a second chance."

The fog in his mind cleared, but his legs refused to move. "No," Harry whispered, "No, no, no-"

"Oh _yes_," Grindelwald said. "Now, it can't take more than one of us back and it throws the other into some sort of vortex, and spits you out somewhere else. Normally that would kill a person, but you're the Master of Death, correct? You can't die."

"How do you know that?" Harry said, and flinched when the former dark lord grinned.

"You are twenty-six, twenty-seven, somewhere around there? You look to be fifteen, sixteen years old at the oldest under that glamour. Even the most powerful witch or wizard doesn't age that slowly."

Harry's hands clenched, "I'm not going to win this time, am I?"

"No," Grindelwald said simply. "But what remains for you here? Someday they will notice what you truly look like, and then what do you think will happen?"

"War," Harry whispered.

"Right, you're not exactly the type to come quietly. With that much power, you could stand your ground very nicely. The only reason you can't use much of your power here is because I was once the master of that wand, and that leaves traces."

Harry closed his eyes, breath slowing. "My friends?"

"Will miss you, but did you really want to watch them age older and older until they died?"

The answer to that was no. He didn't like to think about it, but Harry knew that was what he had been heading towards. And then what, would he watch over their children, and their grandchildren, and so on?

"If I fall through this ...vortex, will I still be _it's_ master on the other side?"

Grindelwald stopped his writings, and lifted off the floor. "The title might be released from you when you leave this universe."

"So I'll die halfway through this?" Harry said.

"I don't particularly care whether you live or die. If you were dark, I might care more, but obviously as you couldn't see through the illusion, you are every inch the _saint_. Although if you were dark, this could never work anyways."

"I see," Harry said quietly, and suddenly he could move again. He pushed off his knees.

"I won't need to force you, will I?" Grindelwald said, and Harry slowly shook his head.

The old man clasped his hands together, and looked pleased. Harry just stood there limply.

"In the spell, I'm meant as a sacrifice, aren't I?" He asked, and the other man laughed.

"I should have known you would catch on," He said. "But hopefully for you, you'll end up on the other side relatively unharmed. Now come over here, it's all finished. You won't have to do anything but bleed a little, only a few drops."

Harry staggered over to the cell, blinking when he fell through the bars. It seemed everything was an illusion.

On the floor, was a spell, carved into the stone. It was much more complicated than the one's he had seen Hermione make every once and awhile when she was researching.

"Stand there," Grindelwald said, pointing to the middle of it. It looked to be where a sacrifice would be. He slowly wandered over to it, trying not to think what awaited him on the other side, if he survived.

Part of him wished he had taken that train so long ago, never to deal with his title, not have to worry about people trying to use him. And look where it got him, even immortal he was still being used.

It didn't matter now though. Perhaps this world would be better.

"Can I ask you a question, before we do this?" Harry asked, right before Grindelwald raised his wand.

"Of course, it's only fair," The former dark lord said, a pleasant smile on his face. Harry found he didn't like it one bit.

"What are you going to do, when you make it out on the other side?"

Grindelwald laughed. "Make sure my old friend succeeds this time."

"You want him to kill you?"

He shrugged, "Oh no. But I'm going to make sure it looks that way, and then find myself a nice place in the tropics. It's rather cold up here if you've noticed. Or maybe I'll travel the world, who knows. I've wasted almost seventy years in my own prison, it's time I got out a bit."

It was the most ridiculous thing Harry had ever heard. A dark lord got the chance to win a war and he'd instead go sunbathing.

"You could just do that now, in this time," Harry said, and the other shook his head.

"No, it wouldn't be nearly as exciting," he said, "Being stuck in this old body. If I'm going to do this I might as well enjoy it."

It was such a petty thing, and Harry almost asked how he was planning to go about getting his younger body back. Instead he only laughed. It wasn't like he was going to around to see it.

"I'm ready," He said, after his small fit ended.

"Well then, you might want to close your eyes. I should probably tell you that the fact of your partly missing soul will simply make it easier to slip into another body. It won't automatically make the two souls fight, and with your power it'll be very easy to take over the other."

"I'll be taking someone's life?" Harry said, suddenly uneasy.

"Did I not tell you that?" Grindelwald said, smiling almost charmingly.

"No," Harry said, "I'm not going to take part in something-"

Grindelwald raised his wand, and Harry knew he was too late.

"Ahh Potter, I rather hope you survive. You've been quite amusing," he said, and Harry suddenly was in agony. A thick smell of something horrible and a sense of wrongness crept over him, and Harry slipped to his knees, gasping.

Grindelwald spoke, but Harry couldn't hear a world of it.

Then everything went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Rating: T

AN: Thank you for all the support of this, it made me really happy! School has started for me, which makes me even more busy, but I wanted to get this chapter up before the week started.

* * *

A cough forced it's way out parched lips, startling Harry awake.

It took him a moment to realize it was himself, and then grimaced as a sharp pain cut through his skull. His head pounded like all those mornings after he had gone out to celebrate with Ron, but he was somehow aware this wasn't one of those times.

Something was different, as though he had been wrapped in a solitary silence too long, and his coughing fit had interrupted that.

It had been a very long time since Harry had felt this way, as though things mattered again, and yet didn't at that moment.

The last time he had felt this way he had been at the end of Voldemort's wand, staring into his triumphant, bloody eyes. At that moment, in that second, he had accepted his life for what it had been, and he was ready to die.

Not that it turned out that way, of course.

Tentatively, he reached out for his occlumency shields, and recoiled just as quickly. They were in tatters, his mind stripped bare except for a few surviving strands.

Harry almost felt nauseous. In recent years they had become a safety net of sorts, after Dumbledore and Voldemort and Snape. All three had played with his mind, and the idea of it happening again, terrified him more than anything.

There were very few things that could do this to him; some magical creatures, artifacts of long forgotten eras, but if there was an talented enough wizard or witch out there behind this, whatever situation this was, could be all the more worse.

Harry laid there for a moment, completely still. He couldn't remember anything, nothing that could help him understand this, nothing that made _sense_. He didn't open his eyes, but his vision was streaked with red, and the air was warm. It was daytime, and he was outside somewhere, but at the very least he wasn't stuck in a cell waiting to be tortured, unless Dark Wizards had taken to changing their methods. The only thing in his mind that stuck out was an old man, his lined face stretched into a sneer. Harry knew it was directed at him somehow, although no matter what he did, he couldn't recall who it was.

He had more pressing concerns though, as he currently had no idea _where_ he was.

For that however, Harry would need to open his eyes. They were firmly shut; eyelashes and eyelids stuck together in hardened clumps. It felt a lot like the last time he had woken up without a memory to his name, his entire body feeling as though he had been crucioed into the next century. Harry really hoped that wasn't the case this time. That would mean he had been captured again, and it had taken him weeks to pull himself out of the last situation some remaining Voldemort supporters had put him in.

Either way, he would have to do it.

Carefully, grimacing, he peeled open his eyes, and was startled to find a grey sky, the sun almost completely blocked by what seemed like ash or smoke. Harry cringed. He couldn't stand fires anymore, not after watching the Room of Requirement burned into ground, Crabbe consumed in the flames. Harry could still hear his screams, and the hissing, crackling sound of that cursed fire.

The thin streaks of light that managed to break through the haze struck him in the face, and after a moment, he was forced to look away. His gaze stretched out, eyes widening as he took in the charred grass, and trees that were little more than burnt sticks buried in the earth.

Wherever he was, there had been a devastating fire, but he was at the very end of it. Only a few feet away, in the opposite direction, the grasses were a vibrant green, and endless rolls of gorgeous fields in the distance.

He was almost afraid to turn to the other side. Whatever he was going to see however, wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. The war had been very much an eye opener, even if it had been unwelcome.

What Harry wasn't prepared for however, was to see a charred body lying next to him, and a crumbling Burrow far off into the distance.

He leapt up with a strangled cry, limbs suddenly working as he stumbled back in horror. Whoever's body this was, Harry must have known them. Was it Ron, George, Hermione? Ginny? His body collapsed as pain spasmed over his skin, but whether it was from his heart or from unknown injuries he didn't know or care. Was this his final punishment, as fate could not leave him alone? To kill everyone he loved, and to burn down the house that meant so much-

_No._

Harry clutched at his head, breathing slowly, eyes narrowing. The Burrow had fallen during the war, and no one had the heart to rebuild it. This one was burned as well, but the fire was only hours old. This was wrong, and wherever he was, it was fake. It was a very foolish mistake, whoever had created this.

Unless no one had created this body and the ruined Burrow, and somehow, somehow, this was all real.

Harry looked down at the body again, and instantly regretted it. Bile rose up into his mouth and he desperately tried to swallow it. Everything in this illusion was wrong, from this fire, to the corpse, and his own younger, diminished form-

Harry stopped, body frozen before slowly raising his hands. They were smaller, thinner, and sooty. He peered down, and the ground was much closer than he was used to.

Why would anyone making an illusion for him make him younger as well? It would instantly make it obvious that it was all just fake. No one in their right mind with this sort of talent make such amateur mistakes. It wouldn't catch him off guard, it would make him know exactly where he was.

_Unless it wasn't an illusion at all._

His thoughts seemed to rotate around that one idea, and Harry didn't have any idea why. What made it seem applicable, more so than an illusion?

He looked up to distract himself and it wasn't much better. Even if it was all just an illusion, the Burrow was still a sore subject for him. Seeing it like _this _again was disturbing and all too real.

Harry stumbled to his feet again, eyes darting away from the fire's reach and to the open fields. It had obviously been fiendfyre, or some version of it. Dark magical fire wasn't easy to put out, and only few could cast it. It had been an attack, targeted and controlled. Only a few rather powerful wizards and witches could control it. If this _was_ real somehow, whoever did it would have to be nearly as powerful as Bellatrix or Voldemort or Grindelwald-

He stopped, breath caught at the name, and then _pain._ Memories poured into his bruised mind, tearing and splitting until he was left shaking and _furious_.

"Grindelwald," Harry snarled, remembering his brief obsession with the man, Nurmengard and then finally, the ritual.

It was all real then. If what he had said was true, Harry was in an entirely different dimension.

And he had killed someone to do it.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Rating: T

AN: Another chapter out - I haven't been able to write much due to school and health problems, but thankfully I got this one finished up. :)

* * *

Or perhaps not.

The reason it took him so long to figure out his body was different was because while it was smaller and younger, his body had still felt _right_. As though everything fit, but not quite perfectly. It was one of the oddest feelings he had ever had but unsurprisingly to him, not the worst.

He was obviously still alive, which meant somehow and in some way, he was still connected to Death.

But he was alive. In fact, he felt more awake and conscious than he had in years. It was like the hole that had been blowing bits of his soul out had been clotted and healed over. The familiar tightness in his chest was gone.

His entire body ached, but for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Harry could smile at it.

It meant he was truly alive again. If he could bleed and not have the cut immediately crust over with new, delicate skin, it meant he was mortal. That instead of being stuck in a form he forever could hate, he would age.

Harry could learn to be happy again.

Momentarily distracted by his new body, thoughts of how he had got there and what was waiting for him had ceased completely. But now he had to focus on his new reality.

_Grindelwald_, oh how he hated the man even more than before, but somewhere deep down, in the place Harry pretended not to exist, a small part of him wanted to thank the man graciously.

The thought itself was horrific, the idea of it even more so, but even in the terror that the ex-Dark Lord had created in the wake of his prime, even though it hadn't at all been about saving _him_, getting thrown into this world was in fact, causing him to become a savior of sorts in Harry's thoroughly rattled mind.

And wasn't _that_ a strange thought.

His breathing had slowed down to a regular pace while he had been lost in his little introspection, and his heart went from palpitations to silently beating from inside him.

Looking out across the rolling fields, he realized distantly that all was quiet, and had been for quite some time.

He was all alone, with a badly burned body at his feet. If he had been home and this had been the reality there, he would have instantly been a prospective suspect.

Here, he was just another victim who had a bit of luck with accidental magic.

It was an incredible thought, but no matter what sort of miracle a child's magic could create, Harry knew that there was absolutely no way to block out or hide from Dark magical fire. If he was going to appear in this body, he needed to come up with some sort of explanation, and for that, he needed to know exactly who this body had belonged to and why history was so completely different in this world.

He may have been horrified at the thought of taking someone else's body, some _innocent _child's, but to survive in this new place, he might have to be heartless.

Harry might as well start now.

* * *

As it turned out, he was more than a little stranded. No wand, no sense of direction with his addled mind and magic, and no _clothes._

The clothing part of his problem was easily solved with a quick run down from the fields and into the small, seemingly abandoned village where he borrowed some clothes off a drying rack. He had a choice of much too big men's clothing, and while his wandless magic was far better than most, he still couldn't do anything more complicated than lighting up his wand from far away or send a teacup in the air spinning a bit unless he was in dire circumstances. So he went with the dress intended for a young girl.

If he remember correctly, Luna had lived around here, and knowing that, even if this wasn't her's, made him feel a bit better. Something of a false relief, but he would take it.

A little bit of cross dressing was far from his worst problem, and it was better this way as well; if anyone was looking for him, they would not be watching for a young, soot covered girl.

Harry made his way down along the row of houses, noticing each time that the houses were dark and not a single soul stirred from within. The village was truly abandoned.

He shivered at the thought, but nonetheless it brought forth an idea he would not usually act upon, but today he was a bit desperate. Not many witches or wizards would ever leave their wand behind for anything, but if this had all been an attack, _somewhere _in one of these houses, there would be a wand he could use.

With that thought, Harry let himself inside one of the houses. It creaked open with a loud, high pitched screech, but the wards that should have been over the house were gone, much like his occlumency shields.

The thought made his lips twitch, despite the urgency and seriousness that came with it.

He pulled the curtains open in every window when he came to realize he couldn't see a thing, but the ashy sky only seemed to make it worse. Harry sighed; he would have to be smart about this. Where would someone leave their wand, if they were in a hurry and forgot about it?

Of course, the answer was easy enough. He just had to find the bedroom now, which was, unfortunately, much easier said than done in the dark of an unfamiliar house.

He trudged up the stairs when he found them, and went room to room until he found the one with the largest bed. When he looked inside however, he realized in an instant this wasn't a Wizarding house at all, but a muggle one instead. The room was full of cheap nicknacks, a dead alarm clock and a very old version of a TV. Except it looked relatively new, which made Harry shiver slightly as now there was a chance, just a very small chance, that his little trip into another dimension wasn't just a switch of realities.

He shoved that thought away, and disappeared down the stairs to the first floor, where he hurried outside. Now that he remembered correctly from the few times Ron had talked about The Burrow and beyond after the war, the village had been entirely Muggle, and the rest of the Wizarding families that _had_ settled around it were located a little ways beyond it.

More walking for him, then.

He moved forwards, his movement changing from a slow shuffle to a limp as his legs started to ache. Harry didn't know how much more this body could take, but he had been in far worse situations before.

It was going to work out, he just had to believe it.

When he finally arrived at the first magical house he could find, his eyes hardened. It was quite the different picture from the muggle village.

When down in the village before he had known it had been full of muggles, he had thought the lack of wards had been strange until he realized there had never been any in the first place.

Here, there had been wards, but none of them remained, and Harry could _feel _it. They were lain across the pathways and in absolute tatters; remainments of old, powerful magic, completely shattered.

Only three wizards could cause this sort of disaster, but one was in prison and the other's magic too pure for such chaos.

Which only left one, if this world was similar enough.

_Voldemort._


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Rating: T

AN: It's been awhile since I have been able to update anything, but I'm glad I got this out. Thank you so much for the support, it means a lot to me!

* * *

When Harry awakened, eyes burning and clamped shut with filth, the first thought he had was of how completely _stupid_ he had been.

Agree to what Grindelwald wanted without ever fighting back? There had been compulsion magic involved, true, but when had that ever stopped him? He had been able to throw off the Imperius curse since he was fourteen and to think a tiny, skittery charm was what did him in made Harry want to mindlessly rage. _Again._

When his vision turned up at the charred houses and tangled wards as if a giant had waved its hand and everything simply crumbled, he could only stare in blank thoughtlessness. If the wards could have ever been repaired, houses rebuilt, that dream was gone.

He had …lost it.

It had been years since Harry had sensed Voldemort's magic and to see it again, thrown straight in his face like a prize, something that had apparently been growing right under his skin burst forth. Wild magic completely ruined anything viable.

Hermione had always told him he had a bit of a temper, but Harry doubted she could ever have predicted this.

The moment between his magic running wild and his desperate attempt to get a hold on it, he had seemed to black out.

Now he had no idea how long it had been since he arrived in this world, with no wand, no way to protect himself, and still wearing a dress of all things.

It was a disaster on all accounts, and the fact that Harry was lying on the ground, eyes unfocused and feeling as though his entire _younger _body had been thrown from a hundred feet up - it didn't make it any better.

Harry needed to make a plan, and fast.

The question was now however; to try to sort out a life here, or to attempt to get back to his own world, where Harry could only think of the nightmares Grindelwald was creating.

Sun bathing.

What possessed Harry to even believe in such a ridiculous lie was beyond him.

No, he was well and truly back. His leaking, pitiful soul had apparently affected him far more than he had thought, and whatever had healed him now, Harry could only guess on. And with the ideas he had, it was probably best not to think of them.

The boy who had wanted to save his friends and would do anything to do it, the boy who wanted to become an Auror to protect everyone; Harry may not be quite him anymore, but he was no longer that apathetic, lost child he had slowly been becoming.

And to think, it only took two Dark Lords to fix him.

To give them a big thanks for the help, he was going to do everything in his power to stop them, and wouldn't that just be perfect?

Harry's lips twitched into an angry, painful smile, but it was worth the effort. He would have to most certainly _properly _thank them.

It seemed he had already decided. It might take him years - decades, to defeat this Voldemort, but afterwards he would be returning _home _and Grindelwald, who had been so sure of his victory, was going to be in for one hell of a surprise-

_-POP-_

Harry's head snapped to the noise, eyes widening in alarm before closing with both relief and trepidation. It was a man and a woman, both dressed in robes that marked them as Aurors. Not Death Eaters, but he'd rather be alone for a bit longer so he could come up with a plan and get ahold of a paper or two so he at the very least could have an idea of who he had been in this life.

But it seemed his luck was as finicky as ever.

Harry laid silently for a moment longer before he let out a soft, pitiful whimper, specially made to garner sympathy. He needed to milk this all he could get. Let him be the hurt, scared little boy. He could play the role, with all the times he _had_ been exactly that when he was younger. It didn't seem like they heard him though, and Harry almost closed his eyes in frustration.

"H-help," He whispered and then again through parched, cracked lips, raising his head slightly so he could see the two better over all the debris. He sounded awful. He probably looked a mess as well, but that would only work in his favor.

"Did you hear something just now? I thought I heard a voice for a second," The woman said and the man shook his head.

"Don't be ridiculous, no one could have survived this _madness_," the man replied bitterly, kicking through the charred remains. "Why would _he_ ever do this? What does he think it will accomplish? Setting Fiendfyre on an entire wizarding village."

From where Harry was laying, he watched as the man's hands curled into angry fists. "Did you hear about the Weasleys-"

"Don't say it," The woman whispered, "It must be very hard for them, their second oldest _died_. And the Potter boy-" She broke off.

Charlie. For a moment Harry was stuck silent, as were the two Aurors.

It had been Charlie laying next to him, as if he had tried to shield the other Harry from the flames, enduring agony for nothing. Because that Harry had died anyways, most likely due to smoke inhalation and the few flames that did reach him, and then _he_ went bursting in from his own world and into this one. Suddenly the feeling that everything was just _wrong_ clouded Harry's thoughts.

Even in another world, people still died for Harry Potter; and that horrified him.

It was _Charlie_. The man who they all often joked loved dragons more than anything else. The man who sobbed over Fred's body and went back out with a steely glint in his eye, fighting even with a grieving heart, just like the rest of the Weasleys had.

They were the family Harry had never gotten to have until he turned eleven; they took him in, asked for nothing, only wanting to help him, and once again, one of them _was_ dead, for him.

Once again, it was all Voldemort's doing.

Familiar anger bubbled up to the surface, and it took all Harry had left not to scream.

It wasn't just the Weasleys; many had died in his world by Voldemort's hand, and no doubt here it was just as bad.

Unlike what his friends thought, he didn't have a 'saving people complex', he simply couldn't stand watching others get hurt without Harry trying to help first. No one had tried saving him when he was being chased by Dudley and abused by his uncle and aunt, but that didn't mean he shouldn't try to help other people. He knew what it felt like to wish more than anything for someone to save him, and if that's what people wanted him to be, so be it.

He may be a child at the moment, but he would grow and age and get much, much stronger. He wouldn't be able to save everyone, Harry knew that now. But he could give the very best he had, to start up DA when he was a bit older, to not rush off and cause others to worry about him or try to follow after.

He may not know anything about this world, but some things never change, and those were the things he promised to do.

Harry lifted his head back up, focusing his eyes back on the Aurors, who were slowly moving away.

"I'm over here," Harry shouted hoarsely, throat burning from inhaled ash but he only continued. "Please help me."

"_John_!"

"Yes, I heard it," the man called back, both of them slowly getting bigger as they drew closer to him.

"I'm here," Harry said again, and both their gazes moved to where he was lying. For a moment, they all simply stared at each other, breathing harshly in shock.

"Merlin, is that-?"

"Harry Potter," The woman murmured, her gaze never leaving his small, huddled form. "Right?" She said, almost hesitantly. Harry realized she was speaking to him.

"Yes," Harry breathed out, only closing his eyes for a moment. "Yes, I'm Harry Potter."

Just not the one they were thinking of.

* * *

In the end, Harry put on a show worthy of a golden prize. He cried and shivered, tear tracks permanently marking his cheeks until his _parents_ arrived. Black ruffled hair, fiery red hair, green eyes filled with both hope and unbelieving sorrow.

Lily and James Potter were alive.

His tears started in earnest after that, squeezed between the arms of his parents, both of them sobbing uncontrollably. It was both a wonder to Harry and another stab of guilt. Because, no matter how well he could act, their child was already dead.

For hours he was handed off from one healer to the next, and when it was confirmed he had lived through _Fiendfyre_, he and his parents ended up at the ministry, spreading chaos in the wake of politicians, supposed family friends and ministry officials. When they finally made it home, Harry was ready to fall into bed and not wake up again for days.

They allowed him to sleep, tucked into a bed he supposed was now his. Part of Harry wished when he woke up by morning, he would be in his own bed, at Grimmauld Place, or that if he was still here, that the 'miracle' of his survival would all be blown over. But instead of either of those things, as he knew they wouldn't be, the paper his parents were huddled around, whispering in urgent, anxious tones the next morning had a certain headline that had him jolting.

It was one he had seen before, a long time ago.

_HARRY POTTER - BOY WHO LIVED?_

_At around noon yesterday, Harry Potter was found in the ruins of Ottery St Catchpole's Magical community, formerly believed to be dead after the attack that took place-_

_Survived fiendfyre-_

_A miracle no one can't explain-_

Harry's tiny hands clenched into fists. There were coincidences that happened everywhere and at all times - but what were the chances of _this_? What were the chances of that becoming his title under different circumstances, in another world, far back in time?

The truth was, there should be almost none. And yet there it was.

"Good morning, sweetie," Lily called, and his gaze flickered up to meet the same shade of green. "How are you feeling?"

Harry blinked as he sat down at the table. "I'm okay."

Lily smiled, but it was brittle and all too fake. But Harry could understand; it was hard to smile after something as horrible as all this happened. She had thought him dead for two days. Mourned and grieved, and now he was sitting in her kitchen, very much alive.

James put down the paper, pushing it away as if it were to bite him. The man then beamed at him, and Harry could only smile back.

"Lets get some food into you, alright?" He said, and Harry nodded.

"What would you like? You can have anything you want, alright?" The man _his father_ said, tone encouraging. Harry was again struck by how wrong this all was; sitting in this kitchen, his parents looking at him as he meant everything to them. But this wasn't his world, not _really_ his parents. Harry was a fake, a changeling child experiencing what he had always wanted.

It was both a lovely dream and nightmare all at once.

"Maybe some toast? I'm not very hungry," Harry said finally, trying his best to sound childish, but he suddenly felt as though it didn't matter much. This wasn't fair to James or Lily; he wasn't _their_ Harry. Not their most likely happy, mischievous child who took after them both.

This _was_ a nightmare - except none of them would ever wake up.

"Are sure you don't want anything else? You couldn't have eaten much in the past two-" Lily cut off, face whitening. For a moment, none of them said a word, before his mother got up and left the room. James's hand twitched into a fist for just a moment, a flicker of distraught curving his face into something sad before looking at Harry again.

"It's okay, Harry. It's just very hard on her right now because she thinks it was her fault, but it's not-"

"It's my fault Charlie is dead," Harry said, words flowing unbidden from his mouth. He regretted it immediately.

James sucked in a sharp breath, like the world itself was hurting him. "No Harry, it's not. He was already on the other side of the fi-fire. It was in no way, your fault."

While the words sounded nice to hear, both of them knew the truth; and the fact was, Charlie had died protecting him. He may not have forced him to do so, but if the other Harry hadn't been there, neither would have the older Weasley.

He pushed abruptly away from his chair, eyes tearing away from James's own horrified expression.

"I don't feel very hungry, I'm going up to my room," Harry murmured, staring at the ground, a bright, cheery pattern.

"Alright, are you sure?" James said shakily, and he only nodded. He turned on his heels, half fleeing the room as Lily had only minutes before.

Harry thought he could do this. But the fact was this; he never thought his parents would be alive. He could have handled the Dursleys or Sirius or anyone else who could have raised him, but in his mind, Lily and James Potter were dead.

He mistakenly assumed it would be the same here.

But that meant only one thing; this world was much, much different than his. Voldemort, to Harry's small, pitiful amount of knowledge, never came after them.

Something had changed eleven years ago in this place, something that distracted Voldemort or had made the prophecy never reach his ears.

Harry put all other thoughts away; his parents, Ron and Hermione back in his own world, _Charlie. _He needed to find out what it was that changed. He needed to study all that he could on Voldemort. Figure out how to kill him; what he had done in the past, what he was doing now.

Harry may not be able to handle anything _normal_ at that moment, but hunting Dark Lords was as far away from normal as he could get; and he'd take that with open arms.


End file.
